So Be It
by julielal
Summary: written for SSS 2008 for magrat me. War didn't leave Harry unscathed, and now only Sirius remains to help him cope. He can take it for as long as it will be necessary, but it doesn't make it any easier. Lemon ahead ! hp/sb


Recipient's name : magrat_me

Title: So Be It (written for the 2008 SSS exchange on sirry_slash)

Author: julielal

Beta: Shelby (Endure on lj), without whom this fic would be considerably more crappy

Rating: R

Pairing(s): hp/sb

Disclaimer: Harry Potter's not mine, neither is Sirius Black, and that's a real pity if you ask me

Warnings: mentions of anal sex, wanking, voyeurism and blow job, plus slight dub-con, dirty talk, hand job, frottage and partially clothed sex (hey, look at that, I managed to fit everything !)

Author's Notes: This was really a challenge for me, because I'd never written something quite like that before. I usually write rather light-hearted stories, in French, and my experience of lemon is limited to having translated three or four. But it was fun, even if it's nowhere near as smutty as I thought it would turn out to be. Plus, I put a huge pressure on myself when I saw who exactly the recipient of the fic was. magrat_me, these fanarts you drew for 'Less A Slave' were just gorgeous. And they show you have excellent taste, since I am too a complete fan of this fic (I even wanted to translate it but Nimori never gave me her authorization).

Okay, enough rambling. I hope you enjoy your gift !

******

SO BE IT

Sometimes, Sirius couldn't help being a little scared by Harry. Oh, he hadn't gone mad with grief after the war or anything like that, but he hadn't known how to handle the guilt all that well either, and at times, it _showed_. It was as if his conscience taunted him so much that when he couldn't bear it anymore, he did something he would never dream of doing or forgive himself for in his normal state, just to make it shut the fuck up.

Most of the time, Harry acted perfectly normal. He was just the way he'd always been, sweet, caring, well-mannered Harry. If anything, he seemed even more balanced than he was before the war. He now could reign in his temper without difficulty, and those bursts of anger he was prone to had disappeared after the Burrow was burned down . Molly's death had hit him so hard, at first everyone though his new found calm was just shock. But it lasted, and since nothing seemed particularly amiss, no one thought much about it.

No one, except Sirius.

Since he lived with Harry, he was always there at those time when it got too much for him. Harry would screw his eyes shut, grab his hair in his fists, prowl around the house like a caged animal, and eventually he would grab a coat and go for a walk. A few hours later, he came back reeking of alcohol, his knuckles split open and his face bruised.

Sirius understood. He knew that helpless feeling of being locked in your own mind, that overwhelming need to do something, _anything_ to get rid of all that tension. He didn't judge Harry. He just healed him, put him in bed and waited for the new day to come and for Harry to build his facade back up.

When the next morning came, Harry would get up and act as if nothing had happened. It took Sirius a while to figure out that he _did_ think nothing had happened. Each time, every single one, Harry had forgotten everything the next morning. And Sirius never tried to make him remember.

One could think he never told Harry because he was afraid of him, and maybe he was, but not nearly as much as he was afraid _for _him. If Harry ever knew the things he was actually capable of doing on those nights that could very well destroy what little harmony he'd managed to get back in his life in those six years since the war ended.

_********_

When they started to...well... neither really knew what was really going on between them. They loved each other, that much was certain, and they had indeed ended up in each other's bed more often than not lately, but were they in love? Sirius didn't know, and frankly he tried to keep his thoughts off this topic as much as possible. He probably didn't want to linger too much on what could push him in the arms of his dead best friend's virtual carbon copy. Or maybe the idea of falling in love with anyone was too terrifying in itself. Since Harry seemed to do the same, everything was perfect.

So, when they started whatever it was that they had, Sirius decided not to let Harry go out anymore. He preferred bearing the brunt of his anger than having to go get him at a muggle police station. And as he soon came to realize, Harry had a very... peculiar way of releasing his tension when he was with Sirius.

To put it bluntly, he fucked. Sirius was just glad it was him and not some unsuspecting friend floo-calling to say hello.

Now, Harry had sex quite often with Sirius, but he was always very calm and considerate. He took his time. He always topped, because he knew Sirius preferred that. He whispered filthy nonsense in his ear, because he knew it turned Sirius on, dreadfully so. _You like my cock, don't you ? Say it, say you like it. That's it, you're_ _a good slut, my slut...._ Sirius knew Harry wasn't especially fond of dirty talk, somehow he found it degrading for Sirius, but he did it nonetheless. He woke Sirius in the morning with a hand slowly trailing up and down his shaft, to make sure the day had a good start, and he stroked him tenderly until the older man was wide awake and panting. Sometimes, he even did it with his mouth, when he was feeling particularly cheery. But he always, always, made love. He didn't fuck, he couldn't. Except when he snapped and didn't have any other choice.

Those were the times Sirius was scared.

He knew he could only blame himself, because it was his fault, wasn't it? He was the one who locked Harry inside the house each time, he was the one who made Harry focus his attention on him and not on blasting the door off its hinges. He deserved what he got, and it wasn't as if Harry _hurt_ him or anything. Okay, he was a little rough, but nothing more.

But still...

The first time it happened, he'd been so...not scared, really. More shocked. Because this couldn't possibly be Harry. That man who'd grabbed him and shoved him against the corridor wall face first, growling, "You want me to stay here? Fine, I'll stay here. _With you_...," in a voice that made Sirius wonder if it was a promise or a threat. That man couldn't be his Harry. He just couldn't.

But he was, of course. It was Harry's hands that fumbled with Sirius' belt, and Harry's hips that were pressed against his buttocks, and Harry's mouth, hot and damp, that was latched on the side of his throat. It was Harry's fingers that fondled and stroked and pulled until the wall was the only thing keeping Sirius upright. Harry who pushed his denim and boxers down, just under the curve of Sirius' arse. Harry who murmured in his ear, telling him about how he knew Sirius had watched him in Grimmauld Place, that time the bathroom door had stayed open while Harry was having a wank in the shower, and how it had turned him on, to know he was being watched. He also said it was okay, because he had watched Sirius too, one night, when he'd heard noises in his room while coming back from the loo. He'd watched Sirius twist and moan on his bed, a picture clutched in his hand, through the keyhole.

_Always wondered if it was a photo of me, y'know. Hoped it was, too. _

It wasn't. It was just an old photo James had cut from a muggle porn mag back in fifth year that Sirius had found in his old school stuff. Grimmauld Place didn't have anything better to offer.

Then it was Harry's cock sliding between his thighs, nudging behind his balls and making him start, Harry's cock and no one else's. Sirius knew Harry's cock, he probably knew it almost as well as his own. He was grateful that Harry didn't try to go in, because for one they didn't have any lubricant, and for two he was so tense it would doubtless have hurt like all hell. Harry didn't use anything to slicken his hand on Sirius' prick, and even with the little moisture he managed to gather there, the older man knew he'd probably be sore afterwards. He couldn't find it in himself to care.

Sirius never tried to escape, to disentangle himself from Harry's firm grip. He felt like his feet were glued to the ground, he knew that what was happening was wrong, it _had_ to be wrong, because something so utterly devoid of any feeling but lust couldn't possibly be right, but he couldn't move. He was hard, and hot, and flushed, and Harry's hand felt both so good and so wrong that he thought he might die.

Sirius kept his eyes closed, for fear of turning and seeing that Harry's eyes had turned red. He also tried not to listen to the clinking sound of Harry's belt buckle hitting the back of his knees.

Harry progressively fell silent. Sirius could feel him breathing roughly against his shoulder. He set a harsh pace, thrust hard without any consideration for the way it sent Sirius' face smashing in the wall, a little harder each time, seeking relief and not finding it. His hips snapped forward faster and faster, and his hands no longer stroked Sirius. One squeezed him, probably because he'd lost any coordination whatsoever and couldn't get his fingers to move or even uncurl, and the other held Sirius' left hip in a death grip.

When Harry came at last, he bit Sirius' shoulder hard enough to draw blood, slumped on the floor against the wall, and passed out before he could say a word.

Sirius didn't come. He wasn't too sure he really wanted to anyway, so he quickly straightened his clothes, and then stared briefly at Harry. He had shadows under his eyes, he'd ripped two buttons off his shirt, and his trousers and briefs were bunched around his ankles. He looked ridiculously young, and Sirius felt a sharp pang of...of _something_. He couldn't quite identify what it was exactly: fear, dread, resentment, disappointment, grief, guilt...probably a bit of everything.

He felt sore, he knew that much. His shoulder was bleeding, he had bruises on his hip, and his face felt hot and swollen from banging against the wall. His cheek and temple would probably have turned blue by the next morning, so he'd have to put some cream on it to make the traces disappear before Harry woke up. He couldn't know that he was the one who had hurt Sirius, he would never be able to live with himself.

Sirius had to protect Harry. He had to, whatever it cost him. If he had to be thrown against a wall, or the floor, or the kitchen counter, then so be it. If it could keep Harry mostly sane a little longer, so be it.

He floated Harry to his room, changed him into his pajamas, and seeing the dried semen still on his cock, vanished it with a flick of his wand. He didn't want Harry to wake up all itchy and wonder where it came from. He quickly cleaned his teeth too, to get rid of the taste of blood.

When it finally looked like absolutely nothing had happened, Sirius went back to his own room, just like every other time, and like each time, he gazed long and hard at his bottle of Firewhisky without actually drinking any of it.

The next morning, he told Harry he hadn't been feeling too good the evening before, had fallen asleep on the couch and Sirius had had to tuck him in. He'd seemed a little puzzled, but he hadn't asked any question and quietly dug into his oatmeal with a nod. Even if he'd had doubts, maybe he knew dropping it was for the best.

Just like that, life was back to normal, until the next time. It happened again, it always did, but Sirius was ready to bear it for as long as it would last. Day after day, month after month, year after year, he'd carry on.

In the meantime, life was back to normal, and that was all that counted.


End file.
